


Heal

by L122ytorch



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L122ytorch/pseuds/L122ytorch
Summary: Elizabeth Keen gets taken by one of Red's most formidable foes and the consequences are great.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a world where Agnes doesn't exist...and Tom barely exists.

This is a world where Agnes doesn’t exist, and Tom...mostly doesn’t exist.

+++++++++++++++++++

The corridor seemed to stretch on to eternity. The building smelled of sweat, metal, blood and despair. He’d killed four on his way in and despite knowing how close she was, he felt nothing but horror, terror, uncertainty and sickness in the pit of his soul. 

There were no words to describe the sheer magnitude of helplessness that had washed over Raymond Reddington the moment he realized she had been taken. 

The resources at his disposal suddenly felt so diminutive and inadequate. Using every nugget of information and tracking down every lead, every phone call, every monetary transaction had taken too long...what if she were already dead?

He couldn’t lose her. Not again. 

When Kaplan had given Lizzie a shot at a new life and faked her death, it nearly killed him. The loss of Lizzie in his life had left a gaping, rotting wound that he tried to fill with alcohol and distractions. Even suicide had crossed his mind. Living without her...was not an option. He had to know she was alive, he had to see her, hear her voice, brush the chestnut strands of soft hair behind her ear.

The long steps leading up to the makeshift dungeon were a blur of flash bangs and splattered blood.

Finally he reached the reinforced steel door and used the key he swiped off the dead guard to swing it open. A man was in the room with her and Red swiftly shot him, the bullet slicing through his side. 

Then he saw...

The sight that greeted Red was abhorrent, stealing the breath right from his lungs. There, arms anchored above her head, stark naked and stretched out, hair a disheveled mess, a puddle of urine beneath her feet, was Elizabeth Keen.

Red had to force his legs to move, rushing over to Elizabeth, he scanned her body, observing every cut and bruise as he reached up and unlocked the cuffs. She crumpled towards the ground with a yelp of pain and he stood her up. Tearing off his jacket, he put it around her and grasped her face between his warm and steady hands.

“Lizzie, I’m getting you out of here. I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you...” he nearly choked on the words. 

Tears had gathered in her eyes before spilling down battered cheeks towards her quivering lips. “...jus...glad you’re here...” she struggled. But her features shifted from relief to terror as she glanced over Red’s shoulder at the man writhing in pain on the floor. 

It was a rival of Red’s. A man named Torren, a masochistic, narcissistic, psychopath that Red had pissed off in the past. That’s all Liz knew. 

“Kill him,” Liz’s voice was suddenly as solid as stone and cold as ice. Red shook his head, “I want him to pay,” he whispered to her. “I want him to suffer.”

Tears were now furiously cascading down Keen’s face. Her throat was dry and tasted of blood. She was in insurmountable pain, moments from passing out, but with every last shred of her strength she had to see this through. 

“I need...” her voice dipped low, “I need...you to kill him now. In front of me. I need to see him dead now,” there was such an intensity and urgency in her words that it was unknotting Raymond’s resolve. So he steadied Liz with his right arm and then reluctantly emptied out the rest of clip on Torren with his left. 

When he was done he faced Liz just in time to see relief wash over her features before she gave in to the murky depths of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

The nameless gray building that housed the makeshift mobile hospital made Raymond's stomach churn. It hit too close to home. It reminded him of the day he thought he lost Elizabeth Keen for good, hovering over her lifeless gray body, her cold hand in his. It made vomit threaten to rise from his throat. But he tried to push down his feelings and remain in the moment.

Dembe was there in the room with him, a white curtain that felt more like a brick wall separating the two men from the doctors working on Elizabeth. So badly he wanted to be in there, to hold her hand, to whisper warm things into her ear, to promise her that this would never happen again. But he couldn't guarantee that, and that killed him. It was because of him that she was here, and in that moment of realization he understood Kaplan's motives for faking her death and getting her out, away from him.

The tick tock of his wrist watch filled the room. The beat felt familiar, the seconds adequately paced, yet time seemed to slow to a crawl. 

"Finally," he huffed at the sight of the doctor parting the curtain and walking towards him. "How is she?" 

"She has a lot of cuts and bruises, we had to stitch up the deeper wounds, 23 stitches in total." Red's face blanched. The doctor grasped the clipboard as if it were a shield that could protect him against Red's sure-to-come wrath. "She has three broken ribs and a fracture on her left cheekbone," the man in the white jacket paused, watching Red's expression. Where he expected anger, he only saw despair.

Reddington struggled to keep his breathing even. His fists remained in knots at his sides. 

"I know that you found her naked..." the doctor had brought his voice to a near whisper. "So we...did a rape kit."

A sharp exhale escaped Red's lips as if the air was knocked right out of him. His body was now vibrating, teeth ground so hard that pain was shooting past his jaw, up his ears and into his head. The room was moving, swerving unnervingly from side to side. He forced himself to take steadied, measured breaths. 

"Did she say..." he started but couldn't finish.

"She didn't say anything," the doctor jumped in. "She has been really out of it from the pain meds."

"What did you observe from the rape kit," the words fell like lead from his lips. 

Dembe stepped closer, eyes searching his friend's face. "Raymond..." his voice was pleading, "maybe this isn't for you to know." Red shot him a deadly glance in response.

"I understand that you want to know..." he tread lightly, "...but this is very personal, very private information that Elizabeth may not want you to know."

Red turned his back to both men, bringing his hand to run over his face, unable to conceal a sob that slipped through his fingers. 

"I have to know," Red choked. "Then ask her yourself when the time is right," Dembe begged. "No matter what the answer, you have already killed everyone , including Torren. The answer will not affect your plan of action and it would be a...a massive invasion of privacy Raymond."

Silence passed between them and Dembe could practically hear the gears turning in Red's head. 

"You already found her naked," Dembe said softly, "her privacy has been so completely invaded...do not destroy it further." 

Red nodded and turned back towards his friend, his eyes bloodshot, tearstained and brimming with pain. The doctor nodded at the two and moved to return to the other side of the white fabric wall. Just as he moved the curtain a nurse appeared from behind it. "She's awake and asking for you Mr. Reddington," she informed before disappearing once more.

Red took a step forward before Dembe's strong hand stopped him. 

"Collect yourself first, Sir," he advised. "You have to be strong for her."


	3. Chapter 3

Six hours, that's how long they spent at the warehouse-made-hospital. 

With an IV, pain meds, and bandages to stop the bleeding, Liz was regaining her strength. By the sixth hour she was begging to get out of there, to go home. Red sat at her bedside, making the argument that she ought to come home with him. Despite feeling better, she didn't have the mental fortitude to fight him on the issue, so she acquiesced, under the condition that her stay at his place would come with at least one complimentary milkshake. At that, he smiled, just for a moment, until the sadness crept back to his features. 

Getting to the car was a trying task. Every breath hurt, every movement pulled at exhausted muscles, and she had to lean to Reddington for support every step of the way. 

Dembe opened the door to the backseat and slowly, Liz lowered herself in. She was clad in an oversized hoodie and stretchy black pants. Her fingers and toes were freezing, her mind lulled in the warm embrace of pain meds and she was painfully aware of every scrape and bruise. 

Red shut her door and came around to the other side of the car, sliding in the seat beside her. 

His eyes studied her profile, searched for flickers of emotion, he wasn't sure how to proceed. "How do you feel?" was what he settled on. 

She turned her face towards him, giving a conciliatory smile that masked mountains of pain. "I'm alive." 

He gulped and nodded. She could read the anguish on his face. 

"It's not your fault," she offered. He shook his head. 

"I should have found you sooner," the words came out in a broken croak. "It's my fault you were taken in the first place. Torren always was a sick one. I ruined his human trafficking venture nearly two decades ago. It seems he was biding his time for the right opportunity to strike back."

Silence drifted between them as Red watched his words wash over her. 

"I should leave your life," he said suddenly, matter-of-factly, the syllables falling heavy as lead to the car floor. Her eyes widened with panic that she couldn't conceal in lieu of the medications coursing through her veins.

"No..." she answered immediately. "Sure, you came into my life without warning. But there have been several times I could've walked away from you, and I didn't. I chose to keep you in my life," she stared into his soul. "And I do not regret that decision," she put extra emphasis on 'do not.' 

He broke eye contact, swayed his head in an infinitesimal movement so barely noticeable that anyone who didn't know him wouldn't know what it meant. But she knew exactly what it meant. He wasn't buying what she just said.

"If you leave now," her voice was raw with emotion. "I will never forgive you."

At that, his eyes snapped back to hers. 

"Even if it gets you killed?"

"Yes. Even if it gets me killed."

"And what have I done to earn this loyalty from you?" he turned his body towards her, irked at the apparent reckless abandon with which she was signing over her life. 

She stared back at him with a broken expression. "My husband was a liar, a fraud, I was only brought into the Post Office to handle the cases I handle because of you...I can't get pregnant...not that I would ever trust a man enough to get married ever again...and the most meaningful work I've ever done is because of you. I don't have a whole lot to lose."

He scooted closer to her. "Lizzie," the deep vibrations of the word sent shivers right to her spine. "You are priceless. Your life is worth more than your work." 

"I'm sure it is," she blinked, wondering how she had the mental capacity to have any semblance of a conversation. "But I care...I can't lose you."

A pained expression flitted across Red's features...just for a moment. 

Liz's eyelids were so heavy. This talk was giving her a headache. Taking long blinks she absorbed the sight of Red sitting next to her, turned to face her. "Can we not have this conversation right now..."

"Of course," he nodded, running his large hands down his thighs towards his knees. "I'm so sorry Lizzie...for everything."

"Mmm" she responded, tempted by the idea of sleep but startled as the car came to a stop and Dembe got out. 

It took both men to help her to the elevator and up to the apartment. Her limbs felt like lead and the kernel of a throb in her right temple bloomed into a full-fledged headache. "I need to lay down," she said, using the back of the sofa to steady her. 

Dembe had left the two to their own devices, so now it was just red, his strong arm propping her up and helping her into the bedroom.

"This...this is your room," she observed, seeing his belongings. His closet was open and she could see his shoes lined up and an assortment of fedora's shelved above his hung dress shirts. His watch lay next to a glass of water on the nightstand and the room was plush, luxurious, and smelled like him. "There's only one bedroom in this apartment," he offered. "I can get other arrangements..." "No...this is good," she sat gingerly on the bed. With a measured effort she moved her body until she was lying down, heaving a sigh of relief once her head hit the pillow.

Her eyes were closed but she could feel the weight of Red's heady gaze on her small, battered frame. 

He had a thousand questions. What did they do to you? Why did you make me kill Torren instead of painfully, slowly torturing the bastard like he deserved? How did they take you in the first place? What did Torren say to you while he had you? In what ways did he hurt you? What can I do to help you? But none of those questions slipped past the gatekeeper of Red's mind and lips.

"I can feel you gawking," she said, eyelids still closed. 

"Sorry," he said. "I'll go have a seat in the living room," he turned to leave.

"Red..."

She heard his footsteps halt.

"Can you stay in here with me?" she hated herself as soon as the words tumbled out. She already looked weak, and now she was asking him to stay... this was not the strong woman she had shaped herself into. She hated how weak the words sounded.

Of course Red did not see the request as weak at all. He knew she went through hell, she just needed company, safety. 

"Of course," he immediately walked towards the other side of the bed. Extremely carefully, he lowered his solid frame onto the bed, not wanting to shift the aching Agent Keen. 

Once on the bed, he scooted a little closer to her, laying on his side, he studied her profile. 

There weren't enough apologies in the world to make up for this. He had to get her out of this world, out of his world, and just the thought was twisting his soul into knots. 

It was so tempting, to reach out, to touch her, to soothe away her pain with whispers and...kisses...

But he settled on bringing his hand up near her head, feeling the strands of brunette hair beneath his fingers and closing his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

At some point during the night, while Liz was asleep, she attempted to roll over. Big mistake.

A sharp yelp flew from her lips the second she tried to turn over and tears were rolling down her cheeks. Red must have fallen asleep too, because at the sound of her scream, he grabbed his glock and shot out of bed only to realize it was just Keen.

She caught a glimpse of him, hovering over the bed, face drained of color, hands grasping his weapon which was trained on the door. Until his eyes met with hers and realization washed over his face. He put the gun in his back holster and walked over to her side of the bed. "Where does it hurt? Talk to me?" he knelt by her. 

"Ribs," she huffed with effort, sweat beading on her forehead. "And everywhere else," she gave a faint smile which he tried to return. 

"Let me get you some pain medication," he stood up, walked out of the room, and returned quickly with white pills and a glass of water. The hard part was going to be taking them. They were horse pills and just the thought of sitting up pained Liz. Red seemed to read her thoughts. He set down the glass and pills on the nightstand and reached out to help anchor her. His dress shirt was slick, soft and cool. It was hard to grasp onto, but her fingers dug in as she used the leverage to pull herself to a sitting position.

An agonizing groan moved through her chest. Any slight movement sent shockwaves of pain radiating through her body. It felt like she had been hit by a car. Actually, she would have rather just been hit by a car. How was she going to open up and tell Red what happened to her? She couldn't even come to grips with it herself. 

After choking down the mammoth pills she looked at Red with a broken expression. "I'd really like to take a shower if that's okay."

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you sure? Maybe you should gather your strength and take one in the morning."

"No," she shook her head, "I want to take one now."

Red remained at the bedside looking down at Lizzie. She appeared so fragile and small...it reminded him of finding her chained up. It may very well take a lifetime to shake that image from his mind, and in recalling it, he felt instantly ill. Swallowing hard, he pushed down the revulsion he felt towards himself. 

"Okay, let's at least wait until the pain meds kick in," he offered. "How's a half an hour?" 

She nodded, "deal."

In the meantime, he fixed her something to eat so that those colossal pain pills wouldn't fall on an empty stomach. Liz thought to herself that she must be moving at a glacial rate, because by the time she finished the toast and half a banana a half an hour had already passed. 

She eyed Red's form disappearing into the bathroom, admiring the slick silk back of his vest and the way his broad shoulders tapered into his torso. He talked with measure, dressed with finesse, and every move of his body seemed premeditated. It was one of the things she so admired about Reddington, nothing about him or his mannerisms was accidental. He was so put together and at times it felt like he stood in such stark contrast to her...the way she thought and moved on the fly...following whims and facing whatever consequences would follow.

The sound of running water filled the apartment and he emerged from the space, walking towards her. "Let's go."

She carefully maneuvered her body, swinging her legs to drop off the bed's cliff edge and found her footing. Standing, she leaned on Red's shoulder and they walked into the bathroom. 

"Thanks," she said, looking at him expectantly.

His face twisted in confusion. "Oh, I'm not leaving," he said rather seriously. 

"Red...I need to take a shower."

"I know, and I'm going to help you." 

Liz's lips parted in protest but she let the words evaporate into the steam filled room. 

"I'm surprised you don't have a tub," she commented, using whatever delay tactics she had in the arsenal.

"I know, it's a pity," he removed his vest and set his gun on the sink counter. "I do love a good soak with a nice champagne." Liz couldn't help but laugh at that mental image. Big, tough Raymond Reddington soaking in a clawfoot tub sipping champagne was an amusing thought. "I bet you even slice up some strawberries to go with the champagne," she mused. 

"That goes without saying," he returned her smile, rolling up his sleeves he sauntered towards her. 

The reality of the situation was starting to dawn on her as he stood expectantly, his hands hovering near her hoodie. "May I?"

She gulped. The room suddenly felt much smaller, and much hotter. She nodded.

He shook his head 'no,' "you have to say it's okay Lizzie, with words."

"Okay, it's okay," she conceded. His hands gingerly peeled the hoodie up her torso, past her head and off her arms. He tried to conceal his anger at the sight of bandages, bruises and scrapes. But he must have been so busy pushing down the anger that he failed to mask the sadness in his eyes. His fingers were at her waist next, pausing.

"Okay," she said. He pulled down the black stretchy fabric and helped her step out of them. He moved past her, opening the glass shower door and feeling the temperature of the water. There was a charged silence between them. 

"It needs another minute to warm up, why don't you have a seat," he suggested, gesturing to the toilet seat lid.

Being distracted by her nakedness, she didn't take the careful approach she should have and plopped down on the lid. 

It was too late to hold back the involuntary hiss that snaked past her teeth. 

As if in slow motion, Red turned towards her, the color again draining from his face. "Lizzie," he whispered, the word shaking tenuously on his vocal chords, his chin moved, but no words came out. Finally he gulped and forced the words out. "Did...did they..." he paused again, looking down towards her sex. 

Tears instantly gathered at Liz's eyes. She knotted her hands together, they remained in her lap. She wanted to hide from his piercing gaze, she wanted all of this to go away. 

She was taking too long to answer. Red's jaw was now visibly shaking and tears had begun descending his hollowed cheeks. Seeing him upset twisted something deep inside her, she hated it and sprung up to walk towards him. "Red..." her own words were shaking now. "Torren...he...he just used his fingers."

Time stopped. Red tried to pull in air but it felt as though there was none to be had. He turned around, bringing his hand to his face to stifle a choked sob. She watched him prop his body against the wall with both hands, his back shaking. 

When his hands finally slipped down the wall he put them on his hips, his head was hung, and it was easy for her to imagine his pained expression. 

Neither of them moved or spoke for what felt like an eternity.

"Why did you make me kill him," Red finally grit out. She could feel his weakly bridled fury behind every word. 

"Because I needed him to not exist anymore," Liz admitted, tears in her voice. "I needed to see you kill him. I knew that if you took him, you'd torture him."

"And he'd deserve every second of it," Red spun around, face stained with liquid despair, teeth rattling with rage. 

"He would have deserved it. But...sadistic torture for no means other than revenge...that's not the Red I want." 

At her words, his features softened ever so slightly, but she could still feel him vibrating with anger.

"Help me take a shower," she said, turning to open the glass door and stepping inside. She moved to pull the door shut, but Red's hand caught it before it swung closed. 

She looked at him in shock as he walked into the shower, fully clothed. 

Seeing him there in front of her, the water pouring over every cut, reality crashing into her like a wave, she bit her lip and tried not to cry. The truth was...she didn't think Red would find her alive. She didn't think she'd ever see him again. By the last day in captivity she had resigned to the probable reality of dying in a makeshift dungeon, starving, bleeding...

Red's large hands cupped her face and he kissed her forehead as he had done so many times before. But it couldn't stop the waterfall of tears.

"I can still feel his mouth on mine," she admitted. "I can still feel his fingers in me..."

Every word was ripping through Red, tearing apart his resolve, breaking his heart. 

She put her hands on his face, watching the water slide off his features. "I need you Red," her throat was so tight that she almost couldn't get the sentence out. "I need your kiss and your fingers. I want to feel you, I want to remember feeling you, not him."

A torrent of mixed emotions was coursing through Red's exhausted mind. 

"Lizzie...you were traumatized...you're not thinking logically...you don't know what you're asking..."

Her bright blue eyes were punctuated by the tear aggravated red veins surrounding them. "I know exactly what I'm asking...I know exactly what I need...I need you Raymond."

Whatever shred of sanity and restraint Reddington had held onto was now circling the drain. It had disgusted him that he felt the familiar knock of arousal while he was undressing Liz and now she was standing in front of him...naked...asking him to...

"This won't make your pain go away," he let her pull him closer.

She pressed her cheek to his. "Just hearing your voice is soothing, imagine what a kiss could do," she breathed the words onto his lips, pressing her body into his. 

He didn't fight it when she kissed him, when she prodded his mouth open and slipped her warm tongue inside to explore. It was impossible not to kiss her back, but he was hesitant.

"Please...please Raymond," she pleaded, "touch me."

There was no saying 'no' to her. It just made him feel more disgusted with himself as he let his hands roam gently over her torso, soothing his thumb over cuts before lavishing her breasts with his tongue and hands. He didn't want to be enjoying this, but he was. He would give his dying breath for her, he was so grateful that she was alive, that she graced his lips with hers...he didn't deserve it.

His clothes clung to his soaked frame. She ran his hands over his body...over his back...and panic spiked in his chest at her feeling his scars. She reached for the buttons...tried to undress him...but he wouldn't let her. His erection strained against his dress pants and he ignored the throbbing aches of desire, focusing on her, kissing every bruise, holding her so close that he wished he could pour healing itself into her soul. 

Liz's breathing was quick, her back was against the shower wall for support. She rubbed him through his pants and elicited a delicious groan, but still, he batted her hand away. So she let him focus on her, massaging her sex with slick, skilled fingers until she was writhing against him. 

God, she was so gorgeous. 

She was warm and wet and reactive and the way she murmured his name into his neck was driving Red up a wall. He explored her with his fingers before letting them dip into her heat. Her muscles were already contracting around his fingers and some pressure around her clit had her coming undone. But it wasn't enough...he got down on his knees, still fully dressed, still refusing to touch himself, and began licking at her folds. 

He was just as much of an expert as she'd expected him to be. Calculating, deliberate, skilled, caring, attentive...fuck...just the sight of him fucking her with his mouth was enough to undo her a second time.

She slouched down the wall and his strong arms were waiting for her. They sat together on the shower floor, catching their collective breath.


End file.
